I once knew a boy
who was fearless with joy.
He fought in great wars
amongst elves, dragons and dwarves.
Enemies, neither real nor imaginary,
could deny him victory.

Within his stone tower
safe from all danger
a stirring he spied:
"Evil warlock, today you die!"

At the sound of his signal
his forces sprang from their vigil,
they unleashed their trap,
there'd be no going back.

The warlock was powerful
and his minions loved battle.
Despite their dimwittedness
they laughed at the wastefulness
of securing the rear
against an enemy with no fear.

"Why cut our retreat?"
"It's forward we'll meet!"

The thunder of metal
is the first note of battle.
The symphony of this turmoil
will stain red the soil.

The warlock was cunning
and glimpsed his undoing.
He saw the traps purpose
was to end his darkness.

Ne'er did he flinch
for he was a lich
and lack of escape
emboldened his hate.

He let out a shriek
which pierced like a beak.
Within minutes of starting
the front lines were crumbling.

Our hero stood not idle,
first to grab sword, shield and saddle.
A brief moment was shared
between rider and horse, 'til death were they paired.

To the front with all haste
where darkness lays waste
and light's noble warriors
are surrounded by ogres.

Though the losses are crushing
and the blood is gushing,
man, elf and dwarf hold their ground
for their cause is sound.
But it's hard to keep hope
when so many fell from a single stroke.

With no time to spare
our hero arrives and vengeance he swears.
He charges the enemy,
renewing hope to his army,
and downs five giant ogres
like a child squashing spiders.

Stealth was his first choice
and quick victory to rejoice
but the warlock is far from depleted
and will not be defeated.

Now the battle flows
with thousands of blows.
The fighting goes on,
what started at dusk won't end 'til dawn.

A dwarf and a troll
focused on their goal
of slaying the other
notice the quiet of each owns brother:
Our hero and warlock are engaged!
Both armies look on half-dazed.

The warlock's a master trickster
using poison, minions and blinding powder.
Bur our hero's not naive
and deflects these with ease.

The warlock's not aggrieved
for the game he plays is to deceive.
From the shadow of his weakest thrust
springs forth the real demon like steel from rust.

From all of the watchers was concealed
his next strike: such force, such speed.
But our hero is not naive,
and deflects this blow with, admittedly, far less ease.

The furry was not just the warlock's
our hero did more than throw blocks.
His own power unleashed,
like man turned to beast,
he swung and he slashed,
dodged as he lashed,
invoked spells of light
to extinguish this blight.

The ground beneath compresses,
time feels the stresses.
The forces of immortals collide
and neither shall be denied.

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